Late Night Texts
by Lay-Us-Down-We're-In-Love
Summary: Jim comes for a visit and Sherlock isn't so happy about /why/ Jim comes to visit. [I have no idea how this thing happened it sort of just did and I guess a lot of people like it?] [Genres fixed, thank you whoever told me, I don't have any idea why I put that. Thank you all for reading!]
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was at 221b when his phone went off. It wasn't Mycroft, he would call. It couldn't be John, he's busy with Mary. It was also very late, and he didn't expect anyone else that he knew to actually text him at the time it was. He let out a sigh and walked over to his phone, leaving his experiment that he had conveniently done involving the sink.

His hand picked it up and his thumb went through the lock sequence he had set up. Once that was done, he went to his messages. It was an unknown number. Something like that happened often, clients and what not. Sherlock read over the message quickly,

_Hey, Sherly, want to come out and play? JM_

Sherlock looked at it again, but mostly the initials. JM. Jim Moriarty. Now, that was interesting. Probably a highlight of the night, honestly. The experiment he was working on didn't really turn out the way he had planned, and he was almost ready to give up and start anew. But now with this text message, he'd just give up entirely. So, this is why he had to return from the plane he was on. Moriarty was back.

Sherlock tapped out his reply and sat the phone down on the coffee table in front of the couch where he was now situated.

_What do you want? SH _

Moriarty was fast when it came to replies. That meant he was doing nothing or doing something he didn't like.

_Oh, I simply want to play. Why don't you meet me somewhere, hm? JM _

_Why would I meet you? SH_

_You're curious, Sherlock. I know you are. But, since I'm already out, I'll be coming to you. JM _

_And what makes you think I'll let you in? SH _

_I know you, and I know you will. Now stop annoying Daddy with stupid questions and open up the door, will you? JM _

There was a soft knock on the door which made Sherlock look at the empty doorway to get downstairs. This could be a trick, someone else could be waiting for him. But, he still found himself walking down the stairs anyway, cursing his curiosity. Sherlock opened the door fully and had his arms folded across his chest. He was relieved that it wasn't someone waiting for him. But, he still gave his best glare to who had been there.

Moriarty, on the other hand, had a smirk on his face, enjoying the look that Sherlock was giving. Which went from relieved to an angry glare in seconds.

"Relieved it was just little old me? That face of yours is just like an op-"

"Get to the point, I don't have all night."

"Oooh, someone's grouchy!" He said in a singsong voice. His smirk was still there. Jim enjoyed making Sherlock struggle. It was fun to see the gears in his head turn. But his train of thought was cut short when Sherlock was going to close the door. Jim stuck his foot in the doorway pushed the door open with his hand and foot,

"Now, now, Sherly boy, Daddy walked all this way to see you. Show some hospitality or you'll be punished." The last sentence was in his voice that he used often when he wanted to kill someone. Not like he didn't want to kill Sherlock, just not right now. Right now, he'd enjoy having him on his knees and begging for release. How pretty he'd look with a collar...

"When have I ever been known for hospitality, Moriarty?" Sherlock shot back, disrupting Jim's thought process again.

"Call me Jim, would you? First names are first base and right now I would like to go to third. Let me _in._"

Jim passed Sherlock, leaving Sherlock behind him as he ran up the steps. By the time Sherlock got back in the flat, Jim had already made himself at home on the couch, stretching out.

"Mori-"

"Jim, dear." Jim snapped.

"Leave. Before I call the police."

"You won't do that."

Sherlock paused for a moment. Would he really? He was starting to fight with himself in his head. _'Yes, call Lestrade. Don't be so idiotic.' 'No, you know you want him here. You like danger, just like John does.' _Jim laughed, still enjoying seeing Sherlock struggle for what to do and say.

"If I knew you would react this way all the time, I would've come more often."

He suddenly stood up from the couch and quickly made his way in front of Sherlock. Sherlock didn't move an inch, not willing to budge for someone like Moriarty. Jim snatched both of Sherlock's wrists and pulled him closer to him. Sherlock protested, but it wasn't much use. For someone like Jim, he was strong.

"I could take you right here right now...I'd fuck that pretty mouth of yours...," He put a hand up to his face, letting go of one of wrists. He held both of them in one hand, "But, I think I'll start with you begging."

His hand moved from his face to groping Sherlock's crotch. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise and tried to pull back.

"Oh, no you're not going away from me. I'm never going to let you go. Daddy's going to make you beg and beg until you almost can't stand it anymore to hold it in...I'll make sure to leave you a drooling. _mess._" At that last word, he pulled Sherlock's arm, jerking him towards him so Jim could take a bite at his neck.

Sherlock started to struggle more, but could feel his arousal slowly seep in. Damn his body. This wasn't the time to react in such a way. Jim was still sucking on his neck while Sherlock was pushed into his bedroom. Jim let go of Sherlock and locked the door behind him. Sherlock was about to attack him when Jim growled and pushed him on the bed. Jim got on top of him and took off his belt, tying it around Sherlock's wrists but first making a loop around the middle of the bedpost. Sherlock struggled against the belt and kicked his legs to try and get Jim off of him.

"It won't be that easy Sherlock. You're either going to have to enjoy this or take it like the little bitch I know you are."

"I highly doubt either of those happening."

Jim giggled, "I love your dirty talk. Who knew the Virgin could talk like he does..."

"What is the point of this? Simple pleasure? That's rather dull. I would have expected more of you, Jim." Sherlock sneered.

Jim's smirk came back and he leaned in close to Sherlock's face, his eyes almost looking all black, "Oh, no, Sherlock. I'll make that mind of yours so clear that you won't be able to be bored...I'll make sure that that pretty little head of yours can never function without me in it..."


	2. Chapter 2

(**WARNING: **Bloodplay, torturesque. You have been warned.)

Jim kissed him, first it was slow and smooth. Sherlock responded well to it, almost moaning before catching himself. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Jim sat up for a second and looked at Sherlock, seeing how he looked so conflicted. He looked like he wanted more like that, more slow. Jim smirked again,

"Oh, you like it slow, don't you?"

Sherlock couldn't say anything without letting out a whimper. Jim took his silence as a yes, and leaned in closer again.

"That's too bad. Daddy likes it rough. Especially when his pet is naughty."

"I'm not your pet."

"Really? That's hard to believe when you react so well to my touch..." He slid one of his hands down Sherlock's chest and Sherlock shuddered.

"See? Very reactive..." He started to kiss him again, this time rougher. Jim tapped his tongue on Sherlock's teeth, wanting entrance. Sherlock wouldn't give him entrance which made Jim jab a finger into his side. Sherlock gasped at the sudden pain, and Jim got his entrance. Sherlock would not stand for that and bit down on Jim's tongue, making sure to cut into it. Jim growled and tried to get Sherlock to let go of his tongue. Sherlock wouldn't let up. Jim decided to jab his finger into his side again and Sherlock just bit down harder. Jim felt tears prick his eyes. Jim finally just hit Sherlock's head, which made Sherlock open his mouth to form profanity.

Jim growled once more. He raised his hand and looked at Sherlock for a moment. His lips were starting to swell and he looked angry and confident. Jim would soon wipe that confidence right out of him. He needed to show his dominance, if he were to get anywhere. After all, you have to train your pet not to bite.

His hand came down, slapping him hard across his left cheek. Sherlock's head snapped to the right, and there was a whimper that left him. He was accustomed to slaps to the right, seeing how most people were right handed, but his left cheek was barely slapped and it wasn't prepared for the sudden pain. Otherwise, Sherlock would have had less of a reaction. Jim felt his tongue, feeling blood.

"Daddy's angry now. You really shouldn't have done that." Jim got off of Sherlock and went to Sherlock's closet where he found his riding crop. Sherlock had to crane his neck to see what he was doing. Sherlock saw him bring out his riding crop. He didn't know where he was going to hit, but he was pretty sure it would hurt like hell. Sherlock tensed his body up, getting ready for it.

"You made me bleed, Sherlock. I'm going to make sure you do as well. You think at least twenty to the chest would bring up bleeding?" He asked this while he got on top of him again.

"I would've thought you would go for a different area than my chest-" He cut himself off before he could say, _'Maybe this won't be boring after all.' _Jim smiled sweetly at him and ripped off his shirt, making buttons fly everywhere. He raised up the riding crop and landed it right in the middle of his chest, which made Sherlock hiss. The hits came down in a rhythm that Sherlock had figured out. After each hit he counted two seconds and he was hit again in the same area with a menacing force. In those two seconds he prepared for another hit.

The first fifteen were dealt out, and he could already feel a bruise start to form. The last five would have blood splatter everywhere if he were to start bleeding now. Jim raised the riding crop again but slowly put it down, "Oh that's unfortunate..." His hand traced over the bruised area, "It's only bruised...It seems like I'll have to do thirty now..."

Sherlock growled at that. Even though he was used to pain, that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He started to struggle again, which he knew was stupid. Jim shook his head,

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock...Do you want me to raise it to forty?"

That made him stop dead. He wasn't so sure he could handle forty without shouting and snarling. Jim had started up again and Sherlock had been counting with gasps, hisses, and groans. He was up to twenty-eight and his chest finally started to bleed. Jim smiled wide, "Oh good! There it is."

He stuck a finger in the blood and licked it off his finger, "Not as bad as I thought. Though, that was only twenty-eight. Two more, alright? Then Daddy can forgive you."

The next two were administered quickly, and Jim threw the riding crop across the room. Some of Sherlock's blood was on it, which made some blood splatter on the floor as well. Jim kissed around the bloody spot on his chest. He raised his hand up to Sherlock's face to caress it and moved his head up so he could be right in his face. He saw his features of pain set in. Jim sighed in content as he dipped his finger in the blood again. He stuck the finger into the cut and start to twist. Sherlock hissed, making his body arch upwards. Tears started to roll down his face.

"Daddy will stop once you say you're sorry, dear."

Sherlock didn't say anything, not wanting to say it. If Jim thought he, the great Sherlock Holmes, was going to kneel down to anyone, especially him, he was insane. Well, Moriarty was insane, but you get the point. Jim smiled,

"I like your perseverance, it's a little sexy...But I want to get to the fun stuff soon. Just saaay it. You know you want to get to the feeling good part."

Sherlock let out a growl of frustration. Was he really going to say this? At least it's between him and Jim. Otherwise he'd go on a rampage of emotions,

"I-I'm sorry," he spat out.

"I can't hear you."

Jim put two fingers into the cut making Sherlock cry out. _'Calm down, say it clearly!' _Sherlock shouted into his head. He took a few labored breaths and eased out with a louder tone,

"I'm sorry!"

"What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry for biting down on your tongue!" The pain was searing, making his voice sound strained and in higher pitch.

"And whom are you aiming this apology too?"

"Jim Moriarty!"

"Ah, ah, ah, it's Daddy sweetie."

There was no way in hell Sherlock was going to call him "Daddy." No, he wouldn't dare call him that. Does he really think he ca- Jim slid a third finger in the cut, cutting off Sherlock's train of thought.

"I said _Da. Dee._" The stop he put in the word was when he started to scratch around in the cut making Sherlock start babbling profanity again. Jim's voice was dark again, his voice he often reserved for that special someone he'd love to kill.

"I'm sorry f-for biting d-down on your tongue, Daddy!"

There he said it. No one would know, and thankfully Jim would stop. Jim slid his fingers out and licked up the blood, his face now returning to lighter features. He smiled as he watched the tears from Sherlock's face roll off his face and his breath slow down. Sherlock started to relax a little on the bed, his back now fully supporting on the bed.

"See! It wasn't that hard was it?" Jim smiled and put his hand with dried blood on Sherlock's face to wipe the tears away. Sherlock noticed that the dried blood was on his hand, but didn't exactly freak out. He honestly had no energy too, plus he really didn't care. It was his blood anyway, it wouldn't harm him. He's also had blood on him before so it's not like it was worthy freaking out about.

"I'm ready for some fun, Sherly," He tapped his pointer finger on Sherlock's temple, "Daddy's going to keep that mind of yours nice and clean the whole night."


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock watched as Jim went slowly down his body, leaving marks and scratches to show that he was his. Though, the marks could be easily covered up with clothing. If he were to get higher, he'd have to get makeup in order to hide it before anyone saw. Though, he was betting if Jim were to go higher it would be at his neck to give him bites and nibbles there, ultimately leaving small bruises known as hickeys. Which he already has, but if he would have to guess it probably wouldn't be that obvious if he were to wear his scarf around the house. That reminds him, he never liked that word, 'Hickey.' It sounded stupid and it wasn't really needed in the English language. Why not just call it a bruise? People were stran- _Oh god. _

While Sherlock was overthinking the markings, Jim had gotten his belt loose and his pants and boxers off. Jim's hand was around him, slowly jerking him off. Sherlock stopped himself from bucking his hips towards his hand. Sherlock would not lose his self-control quite yet. But it felt so _good_. It's been years since he's done this to himself. Jim grabbed something from his pocket which was identified as lube. At first he was going to just put himself right in.

But the more he thought about it, the more he thought against doing that. It was their first time together and was initially Sherlock's first time ever. Though he did like it rough, he'd have to go back on his word for saying so. Jim would make it nice and slow for Sherlock, slow enough to make Sherlock beg. He wasn't completely going to go soft on him. A man has to have his fun somehow.

Jim put a generous amount of his first two fingers and started to tease at his entrance. Sherlock's mind was racing with the sensation. It felt amazing and he wanted more. He knew Jim was going to go excruciatingly slow just to tease him, to make him beg. There was no way he'd start begging now, Jim was just going to have to wait to hear him. But he honestly didn't know how far he could go with Jim now pushing his finger in to his first little knuckle on his finger. The lube was cold and it felt weird, but the way Jim was moving his finger, it didn't matter.

Sherlock let out a moan, not caring if he just let one go. He'd give Jim what he wanted only once, not multiple times. Plus, it was a lot easier on him for just releasing the sound than holding it in his throat. Sherlock started to feel a slight burn now, as Jim just shoved the rest of the finger in to the last knuckle. His finger wiggled around searching for the right spot. As in protest, he moved upwards, trying to get the finger to not hit that certain spot. He knew that he would try to find a certain spot that would make Sherlock just melt (He knew because it was due to the porn he had found on John's laptop when he lived there with him, but he insists that it was for an experiment, as he had told John). And if he got to that state, there was no guarantee that he could fight back anything Jim gave to him.

Jim scowled at Sherlock, not liking what Sherlock had done. Jim, with his free hand, slid Sherlock down forcefully onto his finger, hitting the spot Sherlock had been dreading right on the nose. Sherlock let out an involuntary cry, feeling his nerves sing. _'Come on, focus! Don't let yourself- Oh but the way it feels, you can't - Will you shut up!' _Okay, his head was no use now. That was very bad news, his body would be unpredictable and difficult to control if he didn't have his mind clear of the situation.

"Shh, shh, Sherlock, just give in," Jim cooed, his accent coming out more than before.

Sherlock bucked his hips upwards, encouraging Jim to hit the spot again. Jim smirked, seeing that Sherlock had listened. _'It took him long enough. A willing partner is sexier than an unwilling one.' _Though, Jim didn't hit the spot again. He promised himself and Sherlock that he would be a tease and drive him insane. His finger kept wiggling around, just missing the spot each time. Sherlock hissed and spoke,

"Jim, if you don't hit that spot-"

"No, Sherlock, I give the orders. I told you, I would tease you and make you beg. And I don't hear that voice of yours begging."

Sherlock groaned in frustration at this. Him? _Beg? _Really, Jim was stretching it here. _'Just do it, you won't be able to last much longer.' _His mind was starting to betray him in more ways than one. It was still sensible though. It was correct in saying he wouldn't be able to last much longer. His erection was already starting to droop.

"Please, Jim, _please!_"

"Please, what?"

"Please, just hit that spot, _please,_ I need it!"

Jim smiled and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's chest. Where he had kissed was where he had made the cut. It was still bleeding, but not as heavily as before when Jim had his fingers in it. When Jim rose up again, some blood was on his lips, which he had licked away.

Jim stuck two fingers in, hitting Sherlock's prostate relentlessly. Jim chuckled when Sherlock's dick rose up slowly again. It was like a little rollercoaster that he could play with. Sherlock formed harsh words along the lines of "Fuck, shit, and Jesus fucking Christ" while he was finger-fucked.

Jim started to scissor inside him instead of hitting hitting his prostate in an upwards thrust. It did feel good, but Sherlock whimpered with the loss of the upward thrusts. Sherlock pushed himself down to get more of the feeling. But before he could, Jim grabbed his waist with his hand and steadied him,

"We can't have you coming yet, baby. We need to prolong this..."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. The sensations were taking over and his mind was slowly starting to stop yelling at him to enjoy it. Suddenly, Jim pulled his fingers out and wiped them off on the sheets. Sherlock really whined at that one, how could he be so cruel?! _'Well, he is Moriarty.' _Apparently his mind hadn't completely gone to just yelling at him. First, Jim unzipped his pants and grabbed his cock out from his boxers as well. Then Jim crawled up Sherlock leaving small kisses and bites wherever he could. Soon, Jim had his thighs on both sides of Sherlock's face. His cock was hanging in Sherlock's face, slightly throbbing with arousal.

Sherlock had no choice but to look at it. He could tell it was throbbing. It was almost like he was expecting something. Sherlock didn't know- Oh. The realization hit him hard. Jim wanted him to fellate his penis. That, he was not expecting. He was expecting Jim to just keep teasing him with his fingers. Apparently he wanted to come first. Sherlock spoke up, asking to make sure if that was what Jim wanted, which he hoped he never would have to ask to make sure of anything again,

"You want me to...suck you off?" Sherlock had said it in John terms this time. His mind was just letting him go with the slang instead of proper English at the moment. Though, he didn't really seem to mind.

"Look at that! The Virgin took the very obvious hint. Good job, my pet. Go on then, suck."

Sherlock stared at it for a second before he hooked his mouth on the head, making Jim's hips almost buck into Sherlock's mouth. He was definitely not prepared for that sensation at all.

Sherlock had closed his eyes, letting his mouth just take over. His tongue slithered over the underside of his cock, tracing a vein. Jim had to brace himself again on Sherlock's shoulders to actually stead himself. If Sherlock kept doing that, he'd be over with soon. He was sure Sherlock was doing that on purpose to hurry this along so he can release himself.

Sherlock began to swirl his tongue around him, while slowly shoving more of Jim into his mouth. He noticed that Jim had braced himself against himself. If he could right now, he'd be smirking. This was going rather well. Sherlock had thought about doing this to another man before. Mostly for experimental purposes (Not really, but he's not ready to admit that it actually wasn't for science this time), but he had always wondered about the taste and the feeling of it. It didn't taste disgusting, but it wasn't exactly delicious either. If he had to rate it he would rate it 6/10.

Sherlock started to suck instead of just lick around now, making Jim latch down harder to Sherlock. It wasn't a very hard suction, but he was planning on changing that. After about a minute, he sucked harder and moved his tongue along with it. Jim groaned out, his pre-ejculate showing itself in Sherlock's mouth. It was more salty than anything. Sherlock continued, and soon Jim gave one last squeeze to Sherlock's shoulder and came with a cry of Sherlock's name. Sherlock got a mouth full of Jim's come, which he swallowed down the best he could. Some of it dripped out of his mouth, so he removed his mouth from Jim's dick and craned his head to the side it was dripped on and wiped it off on the sheets.

Jim took a few deep breaths while sweat slowly moved down his face. His head was down while Jim was doing this. He moved his head up to look at Sherlock after a while. He removed his hands from Sherlock's shoulders and sat up on his own.

"Oh baby, I think I'm going to keep you along for a very long time...Would you like that?"

Sherlock shook his head, and if Jim thought he would say 'yes' he really was insane. Jim shrugged at his answer though. It's not like Sherlock had very much choice in the manner. He could handle both unwilling and willing sexual partners.

"Are you ready?" A devious smile spread across his features.

"Yes, I've been waiting if you couldn't see that already." Sherlock said. Even if he was aroused, that still gave him a right to be angry that Jim stopped right in the middle of the best sensation of his life.

"You're so cute when you're frustrated, dear."

Sherlock scoffed and looked away. Jim didn't say anymore as he slid down again, his cock tracing over some spots on Sherlock skin. He grabbed a condom from his back pocket and stuck it on himself. The lube wasn't very far off. Jim grabbed that and coated the condom with it before raising Sherlock's legs to get to his hole. Sherlock wrapped his legs around Jim's sides. Jim's cock waited at his entrance, teasing Sherlock slightly.

Sherlock knew how this worked now and begged, "Please, Jim, fuck me. I need you inside of me."

Jim smiled wide, but didn't go in quite yet, "It's Daddy."

Sherlock sighed and said as clearly as he could, "Please, _Daddy, _fuck me. I need you inside of me."

"Much better."

As soon as he had said that he thrust harshly in him. Though Sherlock was only somewhat prepared with two fingers, he still felt a burning a feeling. Tears pricked at his eyes as Jim began to thrust at a slow place, not leaving anytime for Sherlock to adjust. Jim thrusts got closer and closer to his spot before he saw stars in his eyes. Jim had hit it exactly and Sherlock was in heaven again. Sherlock's mouth was slightly open and his moans were dripping out of it. Jim was panting himself, it was hard to thrust when he was tight.

"I should have prepared you more, you're so _tight._"

Sherlock ignored this and felt his erection slowly go up again, his arousal pooling in his stomach. Jim had noticed his erection as well and took hold of it, making Sherlock gasp. Sherlock felt Jim move his thumb across the sensitive skin, leaving Sherlock near breathless. Jim started to pump him along with pounding into his favorite spot. Jim felt the pre-cum and soon after that, strings of Sherlock's come left him with a mighty moan.

Jim smiled and let go of Sherlock and slipped out of him. Jim removed the condom and threw in the garbage that was in Sherlock's room.

"Oh baby, I've been waiting so long to do this to you...It's too bad I can't stay. I'd be up for another round." Jim actually sounded sincere.

"But it's a good thing this won't be the last time I see you. After all, I did claim you as my pet," He stroked Sherlock's face,"I'll see you soon, darling."

Jim put his cock back into his pants and boxers and smoothed his clothes out. The smell of sex would cling to him, but at least he'd look semi-presentable for a meeting he had with a couple of his workers he was ready to cut loose. They had been naughty themselves, disobeying and straying from his line of order. The meeting started at seven and his watch had read five AM. He sighed and left, leaving Sherlock tied to the bed, but made it very easy for Sherlock to escape when he was ready. Jim grabbed his phone out of his pocket and began tapping away, texting one of his many secretaries that he would be home in a few minutes.

Sherlock heard footsteps go down the steps and a door shut. Now he was completely alone, besides Ms. Hudson. As Sherlock lay there, completely naked, he agreed with Jim about one thing. His mind was completely blank.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had laid there for the remainder of the night. He didn't care that he was naked and tied to a very loose belt. He didn't care if anyone found him. This wasn't supposed to happen. Everything that went on that night could have been prevented if he wouldn't have been so stupid! How could he dare let Moriarty into his house like that, was he high?!

Throughout the whole night he felt the pain in his chest of the cut. Again, he didn't care. He deserved it, he's the one that let in a criminal like him into his damn home. How could he not have just simply called the ipolice?!/i And not only was he at fault for the pain in his chest, but the pain he felt all over his body, especially his bottom.

There were many ways Sherlock could have deflected the whole thing, the whole stupid ifucking/i thing if he'd had just called the police or knocked Moriarty out. He knew that if he did knock him out, there would be literal ihell/i to pay for doing such a thing. And even with that closure he could still not get over being mad at himself.

How could he just a criminal waltz into his home, abuse him and rape him, and then let him leave?! And for what, a sore body, a cut in his chest? Sherlock's temper didn't go down as he got out of his restraints. He got up slowly, carefully to check if it was okay to sit or not. i'Get up, go now, bathroom, SOMETHING, THIS HURTS!'/i Sherlock's mind yelled at him. He sprang up and tottered over to the bathroom with balance not being his friend.

Sherlock shut the door behind him and set up for a shower. He would have taken a bath if he could actually sit properly without there being pain. The water rained down with hot water, making the pipes creak and rattle. He held a hand out to the water and felt the heat. Sherlock took a breath and made his way inside, closing the shower curtain. The water hit his chest full on, which made him hiss at first but soon fall into it, liking the feeling of the dried blood washing away. He reached out and grabbed soap, washing it all over his body, especially his cut. It stung slightly, but he kept himself together without grimacing.

He washed his hair slowly with his shampoo and conditioner. He got out of the shower after that, and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Sherlock dried himself off quickly and made his way to his room, getting dressed as quickly as he could. He was hoping that Lestrade would text him with a case. Sherlock also hoped that if he did get a case that John could come along. Sure enough, his phone buzzed a few minutes later. Quickly, he snatched it up and read the message.

iHave a case for you. It's a couple blocks away from Baker Street, you'll see it. GL/i

Sherlock breathed out a sigh and tapped out a text to John.

iI require your assistance on a case. SH /i

Sherlock carefully sat on the couch, feeling pain everywhere. He chose to ignore it. It wouldn't do him any good to start complaining about it now. He had a case, and if he couldn't solve (even if it took him all of two minutes) it because of the pain, then he really couldn't forgive himself.

iSherlock, I'm busy. JW /i

i  
/i

iI realise, John, but I need your assistance. SH /i

i  
/i

iI can't just leave. JW /i

Sherlock smirked slightly and typed out his next message.

iPlease? SH/i

John rolled his eyes and looked up at Mary. She was asleep at the moment, and she had her hand wrapped around her stomach, as if cradling it. He smiled slightly. Maybe he should get out. He could always leave a note, he was sure she'd understand. Sherlock probably didn't even need him, he just wanted him there.

iFine, I'm coming. Where is it? JW /i

i  
/i

iCouple blocks away from Baker Street. SH /i

He then sent out a text message to Lestrade,

iWe'll be coming soon. SH /i

Sherlock got up from the couch, tottering over to the coat hanger. He grabbed his coat and put it around him. It was about five (Celcius) out, a coat would be needed. Though, he didn't bother with his scarf. It wasn't ithat/i cold. He left the room and went downstairs, out the door, and walked down the street and went a couple blocks down. He looked like he had a slight limp when he walked, but he didn't pay attention to it. He hoped no one else would.

When Sherlock got there, he had to wait a couple minutes for John. John came walking up to him, his usual walk. Sherlock didn't really pay attention to his head as it raddled off deductions about John. He waited for John to catch up and began walking towards the police tape with him.

"How have you been?" John asked, trying to make casual conversation.

Sherlock did expect John to ask such a dull question and prepared a perfect lie, "Fine."

John nodded as they were allowed admittance. Sergeant Donovan was near the police tape and she greeted Sherlock was the usual 'freak' in the sentence. Sherlock chose to ignore her and made his way to Lestrade with John hurrying behind him. John looked at Sherlock for a second and noticed a slight limp. What could he have possibly done this time? John was just with him a couple days ago. But it was Sherlock, anything could happen in a matter of seconds with him. Sherlock never took care of himself which annoyed John to no end. So before they got to Lestrade John asked,

"Sherlock, what did you do this time?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock knew full well what he meant.

"You're limping. I was just with you a couple days ago, Sherlock! You have to be more careful."

"Mmm."

"Sherlock-"

"Shh, John. Not now." Sherlock made a shooing motion with his hand when he finally made his way to Lestrade.

"I expected John would be with you."

Sherlock looked at him with a look that says 'if-you-don't-show-me-the-body-now-I'm-going-to-strangle-you.' Lestrade nodded slightly and waved for Sherlock and John to follow him up a set of stairs to an empty room.

"A man was found a couple hours ago with strange carvings on his stomach. None of the team can place it, we were hoping you could."

_'That's typical, none of them would even know anything about symbols.' _

Sherlock walked into the room with the dead body. The clothes were removed from the body, leaving the man stark naked. There was some bruising on his wrists and there were finger like bruises on his neck. Asphyxiation was the way the man died. John was looking over the body as well, standing there while he waited for Sherlock to do something or to tell him what he could do.

The fact that his clothes were off would suggest that the murderer was trying to give attention to the many symbols he had etched into the skin. The weapon was a knife, but it was small, maybe a pocket knife. Now, that didn't make since. Usually when someone is stabbed with such a thing it's because of a mugging gone wrong. Maybe that was his disguise, acting like a petty street rat. He'd have to get to his homeless network out on this. Sherlock started to walk again, his limp still there. John sighed slightly, noticing it again.

The markings were the same thing, over and over. Sherlock stared at it for a second before recognizing the symbol. It was the Greek letter 'Phi' or F. It was the twenty-first letter of the Greek alphabet. The number twenty-one could mean many things. The murderer was twenty-one, twenty more murders were going to happen, or simply nothing. It was the letter F, it could do with the murderer's name beginning with F or it could be do to someone they enjoyed or loved.

By the markings, it would suggest someone that they loved. Someone that would do this would either be very proud of themselves or going through an episode of rage. The way the writing was on the body, it was a mess. If the killer took his time, he'd be writing the symbol over and over perfectly. Sherlock formed out the reason for the murder in his head smiling when slightly when he did. Lestrade had noticed and asked,

"What have you got?"

"It was done by a man, most likely. The writing would suggest so. The marking is the Greek letter Phi, which is the twenty-first letter of their alphabet. This murder was a fit of rage, suggesting that this man could have hurt or killed a woman or man who would assumingly have a Greek name beginning with the letter Phi. The killer of this man used a pocket knife, which would mean he could be homeless or more likely out on the street the time this man was. You will simply have to look up recent murders or rapes pertaining to the Greek race and look for any brothers or sisters of the victim. Really, Lestrade, you've let your detective skills go."

Sherlock looked smug as he did whenever he knew he was right. Which was often. John was beaming up at him, itching to say 'brilliant' and 'amazing.' Though he contained himself as Lestrade recapped with Sherlock and Sherlock was on his way with John once again trailing behind him. The were on the bottom floor of the building, heading out the door.

"Are you going to tell me what is causing your limp?"

"Really, John, it's not a problem. Simply something that happened yesterday."

"If it's not such a problem, then why don't you tell me?"

Sherlock knew John would be persistent. He always was when it came to Sherlock's well-being.

"I was doing an experiment. Some glass hit against my leg and I fixed it up. It hurts when I walk, causing my limp."

"Then let me see the bandage," John didn't believe that for one minute. He was beginning to see through some of Sherlock's lies.

Sherlock turned around to face John and put his hands on his shoulders. John looked up at him, waiting for an answer or at least some explanation as to why Sherlock had his hands on his shoulders.

"If I tell you the real story, will you promise to keep it to yourself?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Anything you want."

"Good, then we need to get to a private area," He snatched up John's wrist and started pulling him along, "Back to 221b."

John tried to get out of Sherlock's grip but Sherlock just held on tighter.

"Sherlock, really, I can walk on my own."

Sherlock ignored him and lifted up the police tape, leaving a surprised look on Donovan's face as he saw that Sherlock was pulling John away by his wrist. The corners of her mouth perked up into a smirk and she went off to find Anderson. Sherlock did notice this but paid no mind. If Sherlock wanted to gain John's trust again he'd have to tell him. Even if he wasn't sure of the results of John's reaction. He was guessing somewhere along the lines of shock and outrage. Probably a little comfort.

Soon they arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock climbed the stairs with John grumbling behind him, something about how Sherlock could simply let go of his hand now that they were there. Ms Hudson wasn't home, she was probably off at her sister's. Sherlock pushed John into the flat and closed the door behind him and locked it after he was in as well. When Sherlock turned around, John had his arms across his chest.

Sherlock ushered John to his chair, which forced him to walk backwards and plop down on the chair. John let out an "Oof!" when he landed. Sherlock started pacing when John was seated. How would he approach this? Bluntly? Or would he sweeten it up? He chose bluntly. If he were to make this conversation almost painless, then he would have to get it going quickly.

"Sherlock, you want to tell me now? I'm seated and ready."

There was John again, interrupting his thoughts. He had missed that since John was gone. It may be annoying, but it was a part of John he could live with and cherish. Not like he'd tell John any of that. Sherlock sighed and spit it out,

"I was raped."

John stared at Sherlock for a second and Sherlock stared back. Sherlock couldn't be serious...could he? His expression was completely serious, no hint of lying. And he wouldn't have closed the door and locked it if he was just joking with John.

"When did this happen?" John was just trying to wrap his mind around this.

"Last night, around 2 AM."

"Why didn't you tell Greg, Sherlock? He could have helped you!"

"I didn't want to tell him, I wanted to tell you."

John sighed, "Alright, I get it. Do you have any idea of who did it?"

"M-"

Sherlock's phone buzzed. He scowled and grabbed it from his pocket of his coat. It was the number Moriarty had used last night. Sherlock read it,

_If you tell him, he'll be dead on the spot. JM _

When did he have time to bug the flat? Or install cameras? Sherlock pushed this out of his mind and looked back to John, who was taping his fingers on the chair. He did that often when he was nervous. Sherlock deposited the phone into his coat pocket and made up something on the spot,

"I'm not sure, it could have been anyone really." He said this in the most sincerest voice he could.

"Okay...Well, are you alright physically besides that limp?"

"No, everything hurts." The truth was flooding out of him now.

"Do you want me to get you something? Do you have any ibuprofen or aspirin?"

"John, I don't need anything. I'll be fine."

"Right, right," he said in disbelief, "Do you want to sit on the sofa at least?"

Sherlock nodded and made his way over to the couch and John sat next to him. John looked at Sherlock for a moment before getting up again, "I'm making you some soup."

"Not hungry."

"You just went through a traumatic experience, do you really think you have a choice here?"

"Yes, I do. And I say no."

John sighed and pinched his nose, why must he be so stubborn? He muttered this mostly to himself as he got the soup ready,

"I'm surprised you even got out of bed to day, so much as go on a case. And as one as simple as that...God, Sherlock, what would you do without me..."

"I'd probably eat a lot less and I also wouldn't have someone as reliant as you to do my bidding." Sherlock smirked.

John snapped his gaze towards Sherlock with a playful glare, "If you don't eat this food I'm going to tie you down and force feed you."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and laid back on the couch, letting himself sag. He waited for John to come back with soup. Sherlock waited a couple minutes before John returned, soup in one hand and tea in the other. Sherlock expected him to make tea as well.

"Here," he sat the things down on the table, "nice and hot for you."

He stared at Sherlock, expecting him to move. When Sherlock didn't he said,

"Sherlock, just do it. Please?"

"Fine," He stood up and sat down in a chair, which made him scowl in discomfort.

John had noticed and decided not to say anything. He sat across from Sherlock and just stared off somewhere else while he waited for conversation or until Sherlock was done.

"John, you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I know, but I want to make sure you'll alright."

"I am, obviously. Just go back home."

"How will I know you ate your soup and drunk your tea?"

"You have my word." He put a hand over his heart.

John smiled, "Yeah, yeah, just text me, will you? Anything you need, at all."

"When do I not text you?"

"You have a point there...I'll see you later."

"Goodbye, John."

John went down the stairs and opened the door. John closed the door behind him and left Baker Street, looking to get a cab. Sherlock finished his soup soon after and started to drink his tea. He didn't enjoy the silence. In fact it annoyed him right now. He wanted to distract his mind from what happened last night. Anything, even if it was Mycroft. Well, maybe not Mycroft. But anything besides Mycroft would do. A few seconds later his phone went off again, buzzing gleefully in his coat that he neglected to take off. He snatched it up and read the message, which made his phone almost drop in his tea.


End file.
